Go somewhere and write. How hard can it be? Wake up every morning knowing that there is no distraction from the page with the exception of Otto the Cat and your co-residents. There are a host of social rules surrounding co-residents, but today I’m focusing on writing. Because I should be focusing on writing—Oh look, there’s a carpenter bee hitting my window for the 10th time this hour!
You have been given a gift of time. And with this gift, perhaps because you’re Jewish (or I’m Jewish anyway) or perhaps because you’re a writer, comes with a full complement of guilt. You really should be writing. Or patting Otto the Cat. There are no other options.
Earlier this week I compared being at a writing residency to being an athlete. You have to pamper your delicate little psyche so it can keep writing. If your brain needs fresh air, take a walk. If on the third day you feel grief and pain and stress, spend the afternoon in bed reading a delightfully schlocky fantasy novel set in a magical alternative Russia. You will be able to write on the fourth day.
Don’t drink too much. Don’t talk to people who put you off your writing groove, should you have one (and you really should). Don’t despair if on day seven you write 463 of the worst words you have ever written in your entire adult life. They are inaccurate and ugly, but they are 463 more words on a difficult topic than you had yesterday. And on day eight you can attempt to make them slightly less hideous. You can do it. Stretch, walk, hydrate.
You really should be writing.